


Altered Expectations

by Durrant



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dildos, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-17 17:18:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Durrant/pseuds/Durrant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock celebrate Sherlock's return to life and Baker Street with a few too many drinks and a night of passion that John can't remember anything about. The next morning life returns to celibate normality, but something decidedly odd is going on and Sherlock refuses to discuss it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John lay very, very still and tried to concentrate on not dying. 

Last night his best friend had come back from the dead. Of course, the first thing that John had done was punch him; he had spent the last year mourning Sherlock. Then he had wanted to celebrate, and he had insisted that Sherlock drink with him. 

He was never going to drink with Sherlock again. 

He vaguely recalled finishing their third bottle of champagne and starting on a whiskey with a Scottish name so unpronounceable that John knew it had to have been incredibly expensive. There was a dim recollection of Sherlock taking off his trousers and pants to show John the scar Moran had given him when he’d tried to cut through Sherlock’s femoral artery during that last fight. Sherlock had insisted on preserving his modesty by covering his groin with the skull from the mantlepiece. It had been one of the funniest things that John had ever seen, although he didn’t remember actually seeing the scar. 

John had another vague recollection of taking his own shirt off to finally show Sherlock the scar on his shoulder. He thought that Sherlock had been fascinated by it, but he couldn’t remember much more than that. In fact, he had no memory of how he got to bed at all. 

John opened his eyes, and in the brief second before his raging hangover made him screw his eyes shut, he saw a very naked Sherlock Holmes in bed beside him.

* * *

The kettle had just boiled. Raised voices in the sitting room could be heard over the bubbling water.

“It was acceptable to not inform him of the situation before, but now your circumstances have changed,” Mycroft’s usually calm voice rang out. John couldn’t hear Sherlock’s quiet answer.

“The chances are significant, especially if you intend - ”

“My intentions are hardly relevant.”

“Don’t be so _utterly_ ridiculous, Sherlock!” Mycroft’s voice was angrier than John had ever heard it.

“Get out!” Sherlocked shrieked. It was shocking to hear Sherlock’s usually controlled voice raised with such fury. 

John poured the boiling water into the tea cups and got the milk from the fridge while the tea brewed. He turned round to find Mycroft standing by the kitchen table, looking at him calmly without any hint of concern over the argument that John had just heard. 

“Good morning, Doctor Watson.”

“Morning Mycroft, so you knew he was alive then?” John asked, unable to contain the bitterness he felt. 

“Alas, Doctor Watson - ”

“Out!” Sherlock screamed, walking into the kitchen, his dress gown slipping open to reveal a bare chest and stomach. Mycroft gave him a small smile. 

“I’m leaving, Sherlock, but this is hardly a long term strategy.” Mycroft said before letting himself out. 

“Your brother’s as incomprehensible as ever,” John said, shifting on his feet and feeling an odd twinge in his bum. Not painful, just slightly _used_. 

He’d just slept with a man for the first time in his life. He’d lost his anal cherry to Sherlock bloody Holmes on a drunken night, and he couldn’t even remember it. He snorted softly to himself as he took the tea bags out of the mugs. 

He’d never even kissed a man before last night. Not that he could actually remember kissing Sherlock. Did that make him bisexual? He was mildly surprised to find that he wasn’t opposed to the idea. He’d always thought that Sherlock was an attractive man, but he’d never even thought about acting on that idea before last night. He poured the milk slowly into the tea and stirred, gazing pensively down as the clouds of milk turned a comforting shade of brown. 

Of course, all this was probably irrelevant. Sherlock always said he was married to his work. Last night wouldn’t have meant anything to him. Just two friends getting drunk together and getting a bit over-enthusiastic. John sighed as he put the dirty teaspoon in the sink. That was probably for the best anyway, he’d missed Sherlock so much. He just wanted his friend back. No point mucking all that up with all this sex business.


	2. Chapter 2

John carried the tea through to the sitting room. Sherlock was back in his usual chair. The sight made John’s face split into a massive grin. He felt happier than he had in ages.

Putting the tea down on the table, he looked up to see Sherlock looking at him intently with an unreadable expression. John sat back in his chair, opposite Sherlock. If he hadn’t been keeping a close eye on him he would have missed the slight flicker of emotion that crossed Sherlock’s face as he sat down. 

John knew something was wrong. He felt a pang of dread. He did not want to hear Sherlock’s morning after speech, he was completely fine not acknowledging what they’d done last night; he really didn’t need Sherlock to tell him he wasn’t interested in a relationship.

“You fancy some toast?”

Sherlock squared his shoulders and gave a curt nod. John let out a sigh of relief as he went back to the kitchen. He didn’t think he could bear Sherlock actually rejecting him. It would be for the best if they things could go back to how they had been before, as quickly as possible.

* * *

_You at Baker St? I’m coming round. Lestrade_

_Yeah. You heard then? JW_

Lestrade didn’t text back, but twenty minutes later there was a loud banging on the door. Sherlock stood and moved to answer it; John couldn’t stop himself from gaping. In all their time together, Sherlock had never done anything so prosaic as answer the door. He’d _always_ shouted at John to get the door.

Was Sherlock behaving differently because of last night? John hoped not. A vivid image suddenly entered John’s mind. The two of them had been in bed with Sherlock lying on top of him. Sherlock’s face had been sweaty and his curls had clung damply to his face as he stared down at John as he slowly thrust into him. 

John had no idea if it was a memory, or his own imagination, but either way he could feel himself hardening at the very idea. 

John shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, trying to hide his arousal. He could hear Lestrade yelling at Sherlock in the hallway. He knew he should go and say hello and diffuse the situation, but he really wasn’t in any condition to stand up at the moment. 

“John,” Lestrade said with a nod of his head, as he came into the sitting room. They hadn’t seen each other in months. Directly after Sherlock’s apparent death they’d met for drinks a few times, but each time they met they had less and less to talk about until, finally, they’d stopped bothering.

“Greg,” he nodded back, hoping that Lestrade didn’t think it odd he hadn’t stood to greet the man. 

Sherlock frowned slightly at him, obviously taking note of John’s slight deviation from his normal behaviour. John hoped he wasn’t blushing, it was embarrassing to be this old and still dealing with unruly erections. 

“I assumed that you valued your life above your position in the police force,” Sherlock bit out at Lestrade, continuing their previous conversation. Lestrade ran a weary hand through his silvery hair.

“I was demoted, Sherlock, and you know who actually got promoted? Sally Donovan!”

Sherlock snorted loudly.

“I find it hard to imagine she’s solved a single case.”

“Yeah, well,” Lestrade gave a small smile, “she hasn’t had the best results. But the point is, she claimed she’d known all along what you were up to, but muggins here had stopped her reporting it. She made her career ruining mine, and you gave her all the ammunition she needed.”

John’s phone buzzed to let him know he’d got a text message. Looking around, he saw that his phone was on the table next to Sherlock, who was glaring down at the phone that had just interrupted his conversation. Wordlessly, Sherlock handed John the phone. 

“Er..thanks,” John said, trying to read the expression on Sherlock’s face. Perhaps Sherlock’s year away had changed him more than John realised, because he’d never been so accommodating before.

Looking down he saw what Sherlock had seen on his phone. _Text Message from Mary Morstan_

John squirmed a little. Mary was a perfectly nice woman. They’d gone out once and John had determinedly avoided discussing Sherlock and how utterly broken he was without him. Now that Sherlock was back, and here in front of him, that felt like a lifetime ago, like a bad dream that he’d woken up from.

_I really enjoyed our lunch, do you want to have dinner together tonight? M_

There was no way that he could go out tonight. He wanted to stay home with Sherlock and eat take away food, and, even if last night hadn’t been anything meaningful, it was still crass to go on a date with someone else the very next night. 

“You could have told me! I don’t care if there were snipers or whatever trained on me the day you jumped, but what about a week later? Two weeks? A month?” Lestrade started up again, but Sherlock was still keeping his eyes on John. 

_Can’t tonight, somethings come up. JW_

“Do you know what my boss told me before bumping me down to Sergeant? Said I was recklessly stupid for ever letting you near a crime scene!”

John’s phone buzzed again.

“And of course, I have to work under _Inspector_ Donovan. Do you have any idea of what that’s like?”

“Oh, do keep it down, Lestrade, can’t you see your little rant is interfering with John’s love life?”

_How about tomorrow night? M_

John tried to hide his surprise. She hadn’t seemed this pushy before.

_Sorry, old friend is unexpectedly in town. Have to look after him. JW_

That was pretty much true and John didn’t like to lie; but now Sherlock was here everyone else seemed a little duller, and he didn’t really want to meet up with Mary again. He put the phone down determinedly.

“Really, Lestrade,” Sherlock said, suddenly smiling, “I’m not sure what the problem is. Mycroft is releasing documents that clear my name entirely. By the end of the week I’ll have announced my return and you’ll have your old job back.”

“Not sure what the problem is!” Lestrade looked flabbergasted, “you ruined a year of my life! Right that’s it, I’m off. And don’t expect me to let you near any crime scene of mine again.” Lestrade yelled before marching out of the flat, slamming the front door behind him.

Sherlock threw himself back down on his chair and reached for his mug.

“My tea’s gone cold,” he said indignantly.

John smiled warmly and went to put the kettle on.

* * *

Everything seemed to happen in a whirlwind around them, Mycroft worked his magic and the press was having a field day clearing Sherlock’s name. They were equally happy to extoll Sherlock’s genius as they had been when they’d vilified him as a psychopath. Despite the newspapers being full of stories about the two of them, life at 221b was oddly quiet. There were no cases and Sherlock spent his time going through the newspaper, reading stories about himself or the cases he’d missed out in the past year.

John took a few days off from the surgery and spent them sat in his chair in the flat; reading, watching crappy day-time TV and keeping an eye on Sherlock. It was the happiest he’d been in longer than he cared to remember. He just couldn’t stop grinning to himself.


	3. Chapter 3

“Hi, John? It’s Mary. Mary Morstan? I suppose things are still pretty crazy over there, so I guess that’s why you didn’t call me, but it’s been a few weeks now and I was wondering if you wanted to get together again.”

John sighed as he deleted the voicemail. Perhaps he had been rude to her; he’d phoned her once, just after the news of Sherlock’s return had broken. He’d tried to say that he didn’t want to meet up again, but she was so overwhelming that he’d only really been able to say that they wouldn’t be able to meet up until after everything had settled down. Apparently she’d decided that a month was long enough. 

Lestrade still hadn’t called with any cases for Sherlock, and John was beginning to worry that he had actually been serious when he’d said that he wouldn’t call on Sherlock for help again. Of course, there were always people who hired Sherlock to investigate things for them; but they were never quite as stimulating. And Sherlock did so love a good murder. John grinned to himself as he got ready for bed. His happiness and wonder at Sherlock’s return still hadn’t worn off, perhaps he should be angrier at Sherlock for all the suffering he’d caused, but he just couldn’t bring himself to feel that way. 

Pulling back the covers, he slid into bed. His body thrummed with anticipation for what had become his nightly ritual. Reaching for his bedside cabinet, he got out a bottle of lube and poured some onto his fingers. He’d never had to use this stuff to wank before, and he’d been convinced that the shop assistant had known exactly what he was buying it for.

Pulling down his pyjama bottoms he gave his cock a few lazy pulls before sliding his hand further down. Spreading his legs apart and pushing himself up a little so that he could reach more easily, he slowly began to rub his hole. 

Bringing his other hand to his cock, he slowly started to wank as he pushed a fingertip inside himself. How had he never known how sensitive the skin here was? His breath caught as started pulling the finger in and out of himself, slowly fucking himself. 

The angle was wrong, and he couldn’t reach his prostate, but it already felt so good. He just needed to find something bigger to use. He pulled out and pushed back in with two fingers. 

Sherlock must have done this to him that night, even if he couldn’t remember it. He would have used his fingers to open John up before putting his cock into his arse. John sped up, the hand on his cocking pumping faster and the fingers sliding in and out of his arse became more violent. The thought of Sherlock inside him made him whimper to himself. He could feel his balls drawing up as his orgasm approached. Had Sherlock worn a condom? Or had Sherlock come inside him? Had he flooded John’s arse with his spunk? What had his arse looked like as Sherlock pulled out? His hole would have been swollen as come dribbled out of him. Sherlock’s come.

The thought of Sherlock like that was too much. John came messily into his hand.

He reached for a tissue from the box that he had had to start keeping close to his bed. Sherlock had made it clear that they would only ever be friends, but that didn’t mean that John could ignore his new found sexuality. He might not be able to have the man he was fantasising about, but he needed to find out if another man could be just as satisfying.

* * *

“John! Come here! Look at this!” Sherlock yelled at him as soon as got home from the surgery.  
Walking into the sitting room, he was hit full in the face by the newspaper that Sherlock had hurled at him. 

“Well. Look!”

John looked down and read the headline _Gruesome murder in Stepney: Police appeal for witnesses._

“Inspector Donovan!” Sherlock hissed, “how could those imbeciles trust her with this?”

“You don’t actually expect Donovan to call you, do you?”

“I expect them to want to actually catch the killer.”

John sighed. He didn’t want to think about how Sherlock would react if the police never consulted him again. It was one thing for him to be bored when there were no interesting murders, quite another to have to sit back and not be allowed to be involved in cases. Sherlock would go mad.

“What about that woman who e-mailed about her missing flatmate? The one in Bath?”

“Dull! Too obvious! Too easy!”

“We could go to Stepney, have a look round?” John said hesitantly. He probably shouldn’t be encouraging this. It would probably help Sherlock’s reputation if he kept his head down and didn’t do anything to annoy the police.

“I’ve already been,” Sherlock said angrily, as he picked up his violin, “the crime scene was still being guarded,” he violently swept his bow across all four strings at once, frowning at the discordant noise he’d produced. “With five policeman. I couldn’t see anything.”

He turned away and began sawing at the violin. John didn’t recognise the tune but Sherlock’s unhappiness was apparent.

* * *

John had forgotten how often he used to go to Tesco’s. Before Sherlock’s fall he had gone almost every other day. Mostly fetching milk, but all kinds of other things as well. Anything that Sherlock could think to experiment on, or with. Afterwards, he’d hated coming here. Everything had reminded him of what he’d lost.

So here he was, back at Tescos. Back in the comforting rhythm of daily life with Sherlock. His phone gave a reassuring ping, as if thinking about Sherlock had called forth a text from him. 

_Also need jam, less than 40% sugar. SH_

John smiled down at his phone fondly and went in search of the jam aisle.

* * *

Scanning the nutritional information John saw that this jam had 41g of sugar per 100g. Not good enough. He put it back with a sigh.

“You alright there, mate?” a tall blond man who was standing just behind him asked. John looked round, surprised.

“Yeah, thanks,” he said, “can’t find any reduced sugar jam that’s actually less than 40% sugar.” He sounded like an obsessed dieter. 

“Here, this one should do the trick,” the man handed him a jar, his fingers brushing lightly against John’s in a way that was clearly deliberate. 

“Oh. Oh, right. Thanks.” John said, looking down to read the label and hide his embarrassment. 

“That’s okay. Here, my name’s George,” the blond said, putting out his hand.

“John.”

George’s hand was significantly larger than John’s and he held on a little longer than was necessary, before giving John a gentle squeeze and releasing him. 

“Look, I know this is a bit forward and everything, but I was wondering if you wanted to get a drink sometime?” George asked hesitantly. Something about his tone made John look up sharply, this was more than just a pint down the pub.

“Nothing funny, or anything. Just, you know,” George continued, flickering a glance down to John’s lips, “making new friends.”

John was sure that was the exact opposite of what he meant. He almost said no just out of habit, but then he had a change of heart. This was the perfect opportunity to test out his newfound sexuality. He was too old to go to some gay club, full of nubile and topless young things. Here was a nice looking guy asking him out for a pint. There couldn’t be any harm in it.

“Yeah, alright. Let me give you my number.” John said. It felt rather nice actually, getting asked out for a change, rather than nervously chasing after a women. 

He smiled nervously as he took George’s phone and typed in his number. 

“This is all rather new to me,” John admitted, feeling himself blush slightly. George smiled at him.

“Well, you’ve got to start somewhere.”

* * *

Sherlock was lounging in his sofa in the sitting room. It was so typical of him, so precisely what John had missed that he couldn’t help the wave of nostalgia that swept through him as he saw Sherlock lying there.

He went through to the kitchen to put the groceries away. Turning round to put the milk in the fridge, he gave a little jump to find Sherlock standing right behind him. He hadn’t known it was possible to move so silently.

“You met someone. At Tescos.”

“Er..that is..I mean, I know we never discussed. It is alright, isn’t it?” John took a deep breath, and pulled himself together.”Look, we never really talked about the night you came back.”

Sherlock turned away from him abruptly, stalked back to his sofa and threw himself down, somehow landing in an elegant sprawl. 

“There was hardly any need.”

John blinked, feeling rather bereft. 

“Well, ok, good. So you don’t mind?” John asked tentatively. It was obvious that Sherlock didn’t mind, he hadn’t touched John since that night and his behaviour was exactly as it had been before his departure. It was so clear that Sherlock just wanted to be friends that there was no point discussing it.


	4. Chapter 4

John lay in bed, listening to Sherlock clatter around downstairs. It had been three days since he’d given George his number, and it wasn’t like he’d really fancied the bloke or anything. It just would have been nice if he’d phoned. He rolled over, he knew he shouldn’t be lying in bed fretting over some stranger. His bedroom door burst open and Sherlock stood on the threshold.

“Sherlock! Haven’t you heard of knocking?” John yelled, scrambling at the covers. His phone beeped, announcing he’d just got a text.

“This is more important. There’s been another murder, it’s the Stepney killer again. I told you he’d strike again, it hasn’t even been a week.”

John frowned as he reached for his phone. 

“Are you sure it’s the same murderer?”

Sherlock gave an impatient snort as John looked down to read his text message. 

_Hi, its George from Tescos. Was wondering if you wanted to meet up?_

John grinned, he knew he wasn’t the most attractive man in the world and George was quite the ego boost after Sherlock’s rejection. Looking up, he saw Sherlock glaring down at him.

“This is more important than picking up some woman in Tesco’s,” Sherlock said as he strode into John’s bedroom, stopping only when he got to the foot of John’s bed. It was rather weird to see him in here, Sherlock was usually oddly respectful about not coming into John’s room. 

“I need you to text Lestrade. He’s not answering mine. The woman was only killed yesterday, which means we might still find some evidence if we could get to the crime scene.”

“Sherlock,” John began hesitantly, “I’ll try, but Donovan’s the one in charge of the case, I don’t know what Lestrade could do, even if he wanted to do anything, which he doesn’t.”

“Yes, well. You are supposed to be _my_ friend and _my_ blogger, so perhaps if you concentrated on that, rather than desperately trying to convince yourself of your heterosexuality, then we may catch this murderer.”

“Sherlock! How dare you -” John yelled, but Sherlock was already storming from the room. He bit his lip angrily. It wasn’t really Sherlock’s fault, he knew it must be torture for him to not be allowed near a case that interested him.

* * *

_Greg, Sherlock’s going spare. Are you going to forgive him? JW_

_Its not about forgiveness, its about trust. GL_

John had only finished typing half his answering text when Lestrade texted again. 

_I’m fine with him not caring about victims, being a sociopath. But how can I trust him?_

_Because he did it to save your life. JW_

This time Lestrade didn’t text back immediately, so John went for a shower. By the time he’d finished there was a text waiting for him. 

_You were torn up with grief, how can you just forgive him?_

John sighed; Lestrade’s anger was perfectly reasonable, and on some level he was still furious with Sherlock himself. But he knew what it was like to fear for the life of everyone around him. If he’d been in Sherlock’s position, if he had thought that he would be able to save his friends lives even though it meant pretending to be dead, he would probably done the same thing. Probably. There was still a niggle in the back of his mind; Sherlock could have confided in him. He would have been able to pretend to be grief stricken over Sherlock’s death even if he had known he was alive. Or, even better, Sherlock could have taken him with him. They could have both pretended to be dead and travelled the world and destroyed Moriarty’s entire web together. 

Perhaps if he met up with Lestrade in person then he could explain himself better.

_I’m not sure why you can’t, want to meet up?_

_Sure, you mind if its coffee? Cafe Nero by you tomorrow at 3?_

_Great, see you then_

John checked the time and decided he should text George back. He hadn’t wanted to do it too soon, he didn’t want to seem too eager.

_Sounds great. When?_

_I know its short notice, but how about lunch tomorrow?_

* * *

The restaurant was still empty; it was only noon and the lunch rush hadn’t really started. John fiddled nervously with the cuff of his jumper as he sat in a booth and waited for George to arrive. He was wearing his nice, dark blue jumper, the one he wore to go on dates. Not that he was entirely sure that this counted as a date, but still. 

Sherlock had been asleep on the sofa when he’d left, so John had slipped out of the flat unnoticed. In the past Sherlock had always made disparaging remarks before John left to go on dates, and he had not been in the mood to hear anything like that this morning. He wasn’t going to avoid Sherlock, it had just been fortuitous that he’d been asleep when John left. 

“John! There you are!” George said, appearing at the table beside him. John stood quickly, but then remained still, pausing awkwardly. He wasn’t sure how he should greet this man. If this were lunch with a woman he fancied then they would have kissed. If it were lunch with a male acquaintance then they would have shaken hands.

John stuck his hand out. George took it with a grin and John felt himself relax. This wasn’t awkward at all, in fact it was actually rather nice.

* * *

George was an accountant who had been living in Australia for the last five years. He talked about himself, and asked questions about John’s life and his opinions. He didn’t deduce any of the other dinners; he didn’t offend the waitress by telling her her boyfriend was cheating on her when their food took a little too long to arrive. He just listened to whatever John wanted to say with a smile, it was like making a new friend; just a new friend who happened to be really quite attractive. Best of all, as he’d been away from Britain for so long, he had no idea who Sherlock Holmes was. Which meant John could talk about Sherlock to his hearts content, because all of their cases were new to George. 

“Wait a minute, your flatmate is the bloke who was all over the newspapers the other week?”

“Yeah, that’s him.” John nodded, suddenly shy. He’d forgotten what a public figure Sherlock had become. Although George seemed nice, and their lunch had gone on for much longer than John had expected simply because it was so easy to talk to him, he didn’t really know him.

He was reminded abruptly of Molly Hooper and the way that Moriarty had wormed his way into her life by pretending to be her boyfriend. John felt his shoulders stiffen and he straightened his back defensively. Perhaps he had let his guard down too much already. He caught the waitress’ eye to get the bill; it was already nearly two and he was supposed to be meeting Lestrade at three. 

“Did you know that he was alive?” George asked, oblivious to John’s change in demeanor.

“No. No, I didn’t,” John said, surprising himself by how angry and bitter he sounded to his own ears. George leaned forward and put his hand on the table. His hand was slightly more on John’s side of the table than it was on George’s, as if he expected John to reach out and take his hand. John blinked down at the large, calloused hand. 

“That must have been tough,” George sighed and looked a little disappointed, “Look, I don’t want to tread on any toes here. If there’s anything between you and your flatmate, then, well, I’d like us to be friends anyway.”

John paused. He’d pretty much abandoned every girlfriend he’d had since he met Sherlock. His flatmate had always seemed more interesting, more dangerous, more fun. But maybe it wasn’t Sherlock after all. Maybe it had been him struggling, in his own blind, unconscious way, to come to terms with his sexuality. He put his hand on the table, next to George’s. The blond man smiled radiantly; he didn’t look as entrancing as Sherlock, but George was attractive enough, in his own way. 

“No, Sherlock and I are just friends. I mean, I don’t think I even realised until recently that I was...er...interested in men, like that. But Sherlock, well, he’s...difficult to explain. Celibate, I suppose.” John finished half-heartedly. George moved his hand so that they were touching, his large hand slowly enveloping John’s, comforting him in a way that Sherlock never had. John glanced around. No-one in the restaurant were paying them any attention, no-one seemed to care that they were two men holding hands. He breathed out, letting out the breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding. 

“Do you want to go for a walk? I’ve got to be back at the office by half two, but we could go for a stroll, if you fancy it?” George asked, rubbing his thumb on the back John’s hand. It was an odd feeling, but John didn’t feel uncomfortable; in fact, that was the most surprising part of all of it. 

“That sounds...Actually, that sounds great.” John said, tearing his gaze from their joined hands to look George in the face.

* * *

George didn’t hold his hand when they got outside, although he did walk unusually close to John. Their sides pressed together so that John’s shoulder kept on bumping into George’s chest. He would have preferred if they had just held hands again. Passersby didn’t seem to notice anything strange about the way they were walking; just like in the restaurant, no-one gave them a second glance. It shouldn’t have mattered, and John knew he was being shallow, but he was really relieved that no-one had said or done anything homophobic. 

“So, John, tell me about how you realised you were interested in men _in that way,_ ” George said, his voice light and teasing. John grinned at him and gave him a slight shove with his shoulder. 

“It came to me one drunken night,” John said, giggling. George laughed too, but looked a little uneasy.

“You know, I had a great lunch. I don’t think I’ve had this much fun since I returned to England, and I know what it’s like, coming out later in life can be a weird experience. But I really like you and I’d like to see you again, and if you’re not sure about all this, then I’d rather you told me sooner rather than later.” George said, stepping away from him. John frowned, his side suddenly cold as he felt unexpectedly isolated. 

“No. I am sure, of course everything’s new and it feels bizarre, but bizarre in a good way, you know?” John said. It was rather refreshing to just hear George say that he’d enjoyed their lunch; no woman had ever been so honest with him. George was still looking at him sadly. 

“Alright, just...Just wait here for five minutes, I have to get something,” George said, suddenly grinning, before he turned and jogged off leaving John to stand alone on the pavement. Pulling his mobile from his pocket, he checked the time and wondered what George could possibly be up to. There was a text from Sherlock, asking where he was, and one from Lestrade, saying he was running five minutes late. 

George was walking quickly towards him, carrying a pink plastic bag from a shop that John didn’t recognise. He was still grinning widely at John, he smiled back. God, it was so refreshingly simple. 

“Here, I got a present for you.” George said, handing John the bag but pulling it back when John tried to open it up and look inside, “Nope, it’s a surprise. Don’t open it until later, ok?”

“Thanks,” John laughed. Part of him felt a bit bad that he hadn’t got anything to give George in return. Although, it was rather nice to be the one getting gifts; usually he would buy flowers and presents for his dates. This was much nicer. He felt a little spoiled. 

“I have to run. I’ll expect a text about what you think of the present, alright!” George said teasingly, his face open and his good humour shining through. It almost felt natural when he leaned down and gave John a peck on the cheek. John blinked at the unexpected contact, blushing slightly. 

“I, er, yeah. I’ll text you later,” John stammered and held out his hand for George to shake. The blond shook his hand with a smile and walked away.

* * *

Cafe Nero was packed full of tourists with bags of shopping and students who covered their tables with books and notepads. John found a table in the corner and sat hunched over his coffee, determinedly not opening the bag that George had given him. 

“John!” Lestrade said as he pulled out the chair opposite John and slumped down into it. The man’s silvery hair had grown since John had last seen him and now it hung unflatteringly down onto his forehead. He had clearly not gelled his hair as he usually did, and there were dark circles around his eyes. The man looked exhausted. 

“Hello, Greg, you alright, mate?” John asked. Lestrade shrugged.

“God, it’s good to sit down. I’ve been made Detective Inspector again and they’ve got me reviewing Sally’s old cases. Which is ridiculous because - John! You dark horse! What have you been buying from Ann Summers?” Lestrade asked, smirking like a naughty schoolboy.

“Ann Summers?” John asked with a frown. Lestrade pointed towards the pink bag that George had given him. 

“Oh. Oh that. It was a gift. From a friend.” John said defensively. 

“Right…That’s,” Lestrade giggled boyishly, “That was just the pick-me-up I needed. Sorry, John. Not my business,” Lestrade concluded, not looking at all apologetic. John frowned at him until the grin slipped off the policeman’s face.

“It was a gift, and I haven’t actually opened it yet,” John said indignantly. Lestrade burst out laughing. John’s frown deepened, he didn’t need to explain himself to Lestrade. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Lestrade said, collecting himself, “It’s just been a long morning, and a long week. I think I’m losing my mind. You wouldn’t believe what’s happening at the Yard at the moment, everyone’s running around like headless chickens. Sally’s not doing so well with the Stepney Butcher, I mean, the Stepney killer.”

“The Stepney Butcher?!?” John whispered, leaning forward.

“Shit, I shouldn’t have said that. Just keep it to yourself, yeah?” Lestrade said, his face reverting to the tired expression he’d worn when he first sat down. “This case...It’s bad.”

“Can Sherlock help?” John asked quietly, “We both know he’s an arse, but if things are that bad, then it might be for the best.”

“I promised myself I’d never trust him again when he came back,” Lestrade said wearily, his shoulders slumping; he looked utterly defeated. “But this is...We need him. Here, these are the case files on the killings. The ones that Sally was in charge of. And then there’s another, it was my last case before I got demoted. I never solved it, but I’m sure it’s the same killer. None of the high-ups agree, but it’s worth a shot.”


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock was still lying on the sofa wearing pyjamas and his dressing gown when John got home. Which was good, as it meant John might be able to sneak the bag that George had given him up to his room before Sherlock spotted it. If Lestrade had got a giggle out of it then he really did not want to hear Sherlock’s reaction to it. Unfortunately he wasn’t quick enough. 

“You were gone all morning,” Sherlock said suddenly, just as John was halfway up the stairs to his bedroom. John jumped, taken by surprise. Instinctively he clutched the bag that George had given him, and the bag of case notes that Lestrade had given him, close.

“You’re wearing your date clothes and the aftershave you think women like. It isn’t like you to meet for lunch, when there’s little possibility of sex afterwards. She must be very special, if you’re wooing her like this,” Sherlock said coldly, his pale eyes glinting dangerously. John set his jaw angrily. 

“I met up with Lestrade for coffee; he gave me the case notes from the two Stepney killer murders, plus another that Lestrade thinks is linked.” John said, glaring at Sherlock. He wasn’t really lying to Sherlock, but he didn’t owe Sherlock an explanation. Especially when he was acting so strangely.

“Lestrade doesn’t think,” Sherlock snorted, holding his hand out imperiously. He didn’t move up the stairs to fetch the bag himself. John gritted his teeth and walked down the stairs until he was level with Sherlock. 

“Here,” John said thrusting the bag with the police files in it towards Sherlock. The taller man grabbed his wrist and pulled him down another step.

“Jesus! Sherlock! What are you playing at?” John snapped, trying unsuccessfully to yank his wrist out of Sherlock’s grasp. 

“What did you buy from Ann Summers? Hmm...Oh, I see. Nothing. Your date bought you a gift. How…charmingly direct.” Sherlock said leaning into John and trying to peer down into the plastic bag. 

“Sherlock! That’s none of your business!” John said angrily. He shouldn’t mind, he shouldn’t be angry with him. It wasn’t Sherlock’s fault that he was more interested in his work than John, but feeling Sherlock so close was bring back memories of their night together. Sherlock’s chest was pressing into him and John could smell Sherlock’s expensive shampoo and a hint of his sweat. John gulped, hesitating to move away like he knew he should. 

“It’s still wrapped!” Sherlock said excitedly, seemingly oblivious to John’s mental state. “Do you know what it is?” he asked, but rather than wait for any answer from John he just grabbed at the bag. John tried to twist away, but Sherlock’s arm was reached around his body and John stumbled backwards until his back hit the wall. 

Sherlock followed him, pressing him into the wall, their chests pressing together and their faces so close that they might have kissed. John tried to pull away but Sherlock was keeping him pressed against the wall. It shouldn’t have been such a turn-on, but John could feel himself getting hard as Sherlock’s body surrounded him and kept him pinned in place.

“Sherlock, I - “ John began, not really sure what he was going to say but cut off by Sherlock’s sudden victorious exclamation. 

“Ah ha! Shall we unwrap it?” Sherlock said, grabbing the pink bag and taking out George’s present. It was wrapped in thin white crepe paper and John had a terrible premonition as he looked at it. 

“Don’t Sherlock! I’m serious, give it back!” 

Sherlock pulled back and looked John in the eye, it was odd but John thought his friend almost looked hurt. Sherlock turned away and stalked to the sitting room, taking George’s present with him and trailing crepe paper behind him as he tore at the wrapping. He stopped dead just as he stepped into the sitting room. 

_”John!”_ Sherlock said in a strangled voice, still keeping his back to him. John hurried up to him, half expecting to have to tackle Sherlock in order to get his present back. Surprisingly Sherlock just handed him the unwrapped box without another word, without even turning to look at him. 

It was a cardboard box with a clear plastic front that meant that the long, green dildo contained within could be seen perfectly clearly. 

John had never been so mortified in his life. He handed Sherlock the case notes and practically ran up to his room.

* * *

_I unwrapped your present, J_

_God, I am so sorry! It was a spur of the moment, stupid thing to buy,G_

_I always get awkward on dates, pls say you still want to meet up again,G_

John threw the phone on the bed. Who buys someone a dildo on their first date? Well, at least that confirmed that it had been a date.

* * *

The sitting room floor was strewn with photographs and and typed out reports, with Sherlock sitting cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the floor with his eyes shut. John picked his way carefully around a couple of photos, trying to get to the kitchen. He glanced without really seeing at a photo of an indistinguishable blur of red and black. 

“You want some tea?” John asked, trying to sound nonchalant. Sherlock opened his eyes and stood rapidly. 

“The woman you met in Tesco’s, you met her today for lunch and you dressed up, even though you weren’t expecting sex. Why? She thought a dildo was an acceptable present to give you. Was it joke? Had you discussed our...No, no. That’s not it. Unless…” Sherlock gasped and practically ran towards John and, not paying any attention to the case notes on the floor as he trampled on several photos and reports in his sudden eagerness to get at John. 

“What’s his name?” Sherlock asked, grabbing hold of John’s arm. John pulled away with a frown. It was bad enough that Sherlock had seen the dildo earlier, he really didn’t need any more details. 

“Can’t you deduce it?” John asked angrily. 

“Do you want to know what I can deduce?” Sherlock spat, sneering. He looked angrier than John had ever seen him, his beautiful face twisted so that he looked suddenly older and somehow slightly monstrous. “Your _beau_ is tall, blond and financially stable. Why would he do something so uncouth as to give you a dildo? He’s worried that you aren’t completely sure of your sexuality and he is trying to make sure you are interested in men; a man who has been hurt in the past, probably lost a boyfriend to a woman. You didn’t know what was in the bag, which means at sometime during your lunch he left to buy it for you. So, you were waiting around and yet he wasted time letting the shop assistant wrap it - he is fairly confident that you like him, that you’d be willing to wait around for him. He kissed you on the cheek, but only once. A parting kiss then. A most successful date, how much further would things have progressed if Lestrade hadn’t been expecting you for coffee?”

“Stop!” John yelled, but Sherlock just leaned closer and put his nose to John’s cheek. He felt so gentle as he sniffed John’s face, John resisted the urge to shiver. They were in the middle of an argument, but he could feel his legs getting goose bumps as Sherlock pressed into him. 

“Floris Limes, a traditionalist - “ Sherlock said softly, his breath caressing John’s sensitive ear. He felt himself tremble and pushed Sherlock away as hard as he could. Sherlock could not be allowed see how arousing it was to have him so close, it would destroy their friendship. 

“I’m going to order some supper and you are going to shut up. Alright? This isn’t how friends behave!” John said through gritted teeth, struggling to keep calm. Sherlock clenched his fists but his face lost that slightly insane look and he nodded brusquely. 

“I’m sure you’re a shining example of how _friends_ behave, John.” Sherlock said, turning his back and, picking his way carefully over the scattered papers, returned to his seat on the floor. John just shrugged, he didn’t want to get into it and he was willing to be the bigger man. 

“Thai alright?” he asked as he reached for his phone. Sherlock just grunted.

* * *

Sherlock picked at his food and didn’t really speak to John as they ate. If it had been anybody else John would have said that they were giving him the silent treatment, but as it was he knew that Sherlock was just wrapped up in the Stepney Butcher case. 

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on? Explain the case, like we used?” John asked as Sherlock trudged into the sitting room after they had finished eating. Of course, it was wonderful that Sherlock was alive and John didn’t need the rush of helping him on cases, but he had missed it. 

“Come here,” Sherlock said, looking at him with a surprising intensity. John made his way cautiously over the scattered paperwork until he was practically standing in front of Sherlock. The detective cleared a space on the floor next to him and gestured for John to sit down next to him. John obeyed without question. 

“Three deaths. The two that Donovan investigated were both in Stepney, the killer’s method is what makes him so fascinating.” Sherlock handed him a photograph taken at the crime scene. John gasped as he realised what he was looking at. The killer had sliced open the naked victim’s abdomen and pulled out her organs. Intestines hung neatly from butcher’s hooks on the wall behind the victim. It looked like a grotesque version of an old fashioned butcher’s shop. 

John let go of the photograph and it floated gently to the ground, he turned his head towards Sherlock and squeezed his eyes shut. He was used to the gore, he’d seen enough of it in his time as a doctor, in the army and even as Sherlock’s companion, but he’d spent the last year working as a GP. He’d spent so much time diagnosing people with the flu and prescribing antibiotics, he’d forgotten the cruelty that people could inflict on one another. 

“Fuck, you could have warned me!” John said. Sherlock put his hand on his back and rubbed in a comforting circular motion. John almost laughed at himself, he must look a right state for Sherlock to do something so uncharacteristic. 

“I’m alright,” John said, opening his eyes as Sherlock pulled away awkwardly, “Just a bit of a shock.”

“Lestrade’s body, Ian Pinker-Jones, was not in Stepney, but still in Tower Hamlets. He was killed in an alleyway and he wasn’t eviscerated, but he was stabbed with a butcher’s hook to the stomach and then left to die. Lestrade’s suggestion, which is fairly obvious, is that this was a practice murder. The killer realised that he couldn’t work properly outdoors and that’s why the ones that he commits later are both indoors. Alice Burnham in a disused warehouse and Samantha Woodford in an empty house.”

“An empty house?”

“Yes. That seems to be what Donovan decided was most important too. She’s put all her research into how the killer knew that the house would be empty. The owner has moved abroad and is using an agency to sell it. She assumes that the killer has links to the agency, ignoring the obvious fact that there is a bloody great For Sale sign outside the building. It would be obvious to anyone who regularly walked past the house in the evenings that there were never any lights on in that house and, thus, an available space.”

“Do the victims have anything in common?”

Sherlock grinned.

“Absolutely nothing. And that is why Scotland Yard are driving themselves crazy. They assume there has to be a connection. But there isn’t. Our killer is an opportunist. In fact, his victims are chosen with almost deliberate randomness.”

“What about the hooks? I mean, butcher’s hooks can’t be all that common?”

“Pinker-Jones’ hook was an old fashioned wrought iron butcher’s hook. Untraceable. The other’s were sliced open with a knife and their guts hung from S-hooks, the kind that every DIY shop sells. Equally untraceable. Although Donovan has certainly made a good go of trying. What a waste.”

“So, what now?”

“Now, John, we think.” Sherlock said lapsing into silence. John stayed perched beside him, looking distractedly at the horrific photographs. They were gruesome, but he was so tired. It had been such a long day and, now he was sitting so close to Sherlock’s comforting warmth, he felt entirely too relaxed for a man surrounded by crime scene photos. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there for, but at some stage he must have fallen asleep. 

Sherlock had reached out to pick up a piece of paper and John snapped awake as his head rolled off Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Jesus! I’m so sorry, I must have fallen asleep,” John said with a yawn. “I’d better get to bed, don’t stay up too late, yeah?”


End file.
